


A Husband for Hogmanay

by itsavolcano



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: But with as much historical accuracy as a basic cable holiday movie, Can I make it any more obvious?, Cozy, F/M, Fitz is an innkeeper, Historical AU, Jemma is an heiress, Snowed In, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/pseuds/itsavolcano
Summary: Jemma Simmons has run off from London to a future that awaits her in Edinburgh. But she didn't account for the snowstorm that halted her travel. Or the blue-eyed innkeeper who would set her off-course.Written for FitzSimmons Secret Santa 2019.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	A Husband for Hogmanay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EclecticMuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/gifts).



> Dear eclecticmuses! I am so happy to be your Secret Santa (despite my disappearing act in November). Your prompt was a fun one! It took a turn from what I'd originally planned and by turn I mean... jumped back in time about 200 hundred years. Oops.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thank you to the always awesome and supportive dilkirani for the beta!

_ January 1st _

“I’ll be sure to have it repaired. Somehow.” Jemma whispered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She was barely able to glance in Fitz’s direction. Instead, she focused on the thick wooden door and the splintered frame her father’s coachman had kicked in. Why did the male species think destruction of property was the best answer? She winced as cold, dry gusts of wind caused the previous day’s snow to drift over the threshold. “I don’t think I could ever tell you just how truly sorry I am.”

Her heart was breaking and she couldn’t quite understand why. They barely knew each other and yet… she had begun to hope for something more.

Tension radiated off of him and from the corner of her eye, she caught the way Fitz balled his hands into fists. She only prayed no one else in the room took notice. It wouldn’t do them any good if tempers flared further. 

She was meant to be doing something. What was it? Ah yes. Her father had told her—-no, _ordered_ her—to fetch her things and get in the carriage. He was taking her back to London. But Jemma found herself rooted to the spot. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to return to her dull life back home, where she would no doubt be married off by spring to quiet any gossip about her trip up north. 

She wanted to stay in this exact spot, with this man by her side. It felt foolish and silly—the heady rush of a young girl’s infatuation. But it didn’t feel like an infatuation. It felt deeper. As if she and Fitz were bound to find each other. As if the snow storm had been a blessing.

But now the weather had cleared, and her father and his band of henchmen had found her. Fitz looked far too cross to ever entertain the idea that they could be more than what they were: one grumpy proprietor of a roadside inn and a runaway heiress with a valise full of field notes. 

When she’d left London nearly a week ago, all she wanted was to have her work published, to have her research validated. She wanted to serve as a beacon of hope for women everywhere and demonstrate _categorically_ that the sciences weren’t out of reach. That _nothing_ was out of reach. But now, she wanted that and so much more...

She had been so close to a full life. Jemma pressed her fingertips to her lips in the hopes of stifling a shuddering breath but next to her, Fitz tensed. There was no benefit to crying now. 

“Sir,” he turned and she wondered if he realized he’d placed himself squarely between Jemma and her father. “You must realize—you’ve crossed over into the Scottish border.” 

He paused as if to allow his meaning to land but her father remained unmoved. After a moment, he continued.

“Most Englishmen of nobility, such as yourself, tend to believe hasty marriages only occur in Gretna Green. But border marriages may also occur right here in Coldstream Bridge.” Fitz stepped aside and held out his arm, drawing her close. A feeling she couldn’t quite describe flooded her body as he tucked her against his side. 

The events of the prior evening began to dance in her mind—nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. He had been so lovely during the party to celebrate the new year, attending simply because she had asked if he might. And then his friends had teased and cajoled and fastened a bit of tartan around their hands… At the time she had thought nothing of it, joy bubbling up through her. But now, understanding began to take shape. 

This time, Jemma didn’t hide her gasp. Fitz shored up his shoulders, chin tipped up. The life they could share together played through her mind and she squeezed his hand in reassurance. 

“Sir, I assure you, I deal in absolute truths. And the truth of the matter remains, Miss Simmons and I were married last night, and there is nothing you can do to break the bond.”

xXx

_ December 29th _

Jemma Simmons preferred absolute truths. It’s what led her to the sciences despite her parents’ disapproval. And it’s what led her out of London on Boxing Day with a leather bound manuscript and the promise of a grant from The Royal Society of Edinburgh. Only hand-delivering her manuscript would do. 

Overall, she had never met a truth she couldn’t quantify and accept.

Until today. The truth was, she was stranded in a snowstorm in Scotland.

“This cannot be happening.” 

“Well, princess,” her travel companion started, “we are well and truly f—”

“Now is not the time for negativity, Hunter.”

He glared at her and hooked his thumb out the window. 

“It ain’t me being the negative one. It’s your friend, ol’ Mother Nature.”

“Could be worse.”

“ _How_ ?”

_I could be out here alone_ , she thought. 

For the first time in three days, she was glad her father’s footman, Hunter, had caught her sneaking a horse from the stables and demanded (in a forthright but carrying sort of way) that he chaperone her on her adventure. Despite her protests, he didn’t seem to care that her father would turn him out on his ear for his involvement. He knew where to procure a carriage and a pair of horses. And his presence had been quite helpful over the course of their journey, affecting his best regal posture. It was frustrating how easily it was for a man to navigate the world around them without anyone blinking an eye. 

“I feel a bit like a spy, traveling the world on a secret mission,” he’d told her with a wink on the second night after talking his way into a pair of fresh horses and a shared meal of lamb stew, warm bread, and ale. Jemma had never tasted anything quite so delicious.

“Surely there’s a silver lining? Some way out of this mess?” Jemma pulled at a stray thread on her glove. 

She couldn’t turn back now. If she returned to her father’s house, he would surely marry her off at the first opportunity. Her family was of new money and a husband with a title would go far in solidifying her father’s place in London society. Her skin crawled at the thought and for the hundredth time since she ran off, Jemma wondered how long it would take her father to find her. He was not an unkind man, but she felt stifled and restricted to a future she didn’t want. No, the life she wanted was in Scotland.

“The only way out of this mess,” he patted her knee reassuringly, “is through.” Tipping his head to the left, he pointed. 

In the distance, through the heavy gusts of snow, she could make out the shape of a large cottage—no, perhaps it was an inn? The prospect of shelter and a warm bed sent a ripple of relief through her. 

The snowstorm would delay her arrival in Edinburgh, but tardy was better than dead.

“Alright, princess, it’ll be dark soon. Now is the time to travel by foot.” Hunter pushed open the carriage door and hopped down. Jemma clutched her valise and manuscript as he put a steadying hand on her elbow. 

“You go ahead, and I’ll follow with the horses.” 

“Go ahead?” The snow was blinding and tears sprang to her eyes from the bitter cold wind. “To where?”

“Ah, good point, miss. I’ll lead the way, then.” He unhooked the horses as quickly as possible. 

After what felt like ages, they finally made their way to the front steps of a lovely two-level inn. From what Jemma could see, it was built out of smooth stone and a heavy wooden door sat perfectly in its frame.

“You go in first and I’ll find somewhere to tend to the horses. They’re shivering something awful, aren’t you lads?”

Jemma could only nod, too afraid to open her mouth lest her jaw should snap off from the cold. 

And with that, she turned back to wood door. Did one knock on the doors of roadside inns during a snowstorm? She wasn’t clear on the etiquette of a situation such as this. It wasn’t something her mother ever thought to discuss, Jemma thought with a giggle. Oh no, she was getting delirious. Wasn’t that a symptom of hypothermia? 

Knowing now was not the time to wonder about social graces, she gave the door handle a push. It didn’t budge. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She wanted a cup of tea. A warm bed. She would even settle for the most uncomfortable chair in the entire country if only it was next to a fire. She pushed harder and still it didn’t budge. Just as she was squaring her shoulders to shove her weight against it a third time, it fell open. 

She toppled forward with a start, landing against—-

A man. A rather cross-looking man.

“Listen here, MacAuley—” he stopped in the middle of his shout. “Oh, ah—you’re a girl.” 

She did her best to right herself. Oh, the grumpy man had rather beautiful blue eyes for someone so… so… her mind swirled, searching for the right word… so grumpy. She frowned.

“Should I have knocked?” She asked before promptly passing out. 

xXx

Jemma woke to harsh, hushed whispers from across the room. 

“You can’t stay here.” 

“Yeah, well, look outside, mate. We got nowhere else to go.”

She blinked her eyes open, awareness setting in. Someone had tucked her into a plush armchair in front of the fireplace, her feet resting on a heated brick. 

“There isn’t any room.”

“Oh, no room at the inn, quite the Christmas spirit you’ve got.” 

“Christmas was days ago.” 

“Surely there’s a room or two somewhere.” 

“The lady and I can share.” A new voice Jemma didn’t recognize entered in the argument. A woman. 

“And who are you?” Hunter’s tone was marked with interest. 

“Miss Morse, I’m the cook here at Rosebud Inn. And your mistress is awake.” Miss Morse approached and Jemma tilted her head. The woman was taller than she’d imagined and her blonde locks were neatly pinned up in a chignon. 

“She’s not my mistress. Pretty sure her father’ll toss me out if I return.”

“Honestly. Hunter, stop talking.” Jemma groaned. “Miss Morse, I don’t want to be a bother. I’m perfectly fine sleeping here in this chair, if that’s alright with you. Hunter can sleep with the horses.”

“Oh he can, can he?” Hunter groused. 

“...And then we’ll be on our way tomorrow, once the snow has settled.”

“First, _you_ may call me Bobbi. And second, the snow is coming down too fiercely. It won’t settle for a few days, at least.”

“We need to get to Edinburgh by the sixth of January.” 

“Well that definitely will not be happening.” The grumpy man piped up from his spot at the back of the room.

“Sir, our options seem limited.” Jemma tossed the blanket away from her legs. She was feeling a bit too warm now. “You don’t want us here _and_ there’s a terrible snowstorm. Unless you have some sort of magical snow-clearer contraption that can either melt or create a path out of here, then please let us start thinking of solutions.”

“It’s Fitz. Well, Leopold Fitz, but I go by Fitz.” He inched closer and in the warm glow of the fire, he didn’t look quite as grumpy as Jemma thought. He had nice cheekbones that were rosy from the hearth and a head of curls combed neatly into place. “And magic isn’t real. But a contraption that could melt, or at least displace, large quantities of snow would be brilliant. It would require some sort of power. Something other than horsepower—seems a bit unfair to rely on the animal in a blizzard.” He focused, as if he remembered where he was. “Um, sorry. I’m a bit of a tinkerer.” 

“He’s being modest. He’s an inventor and rather brilliant. Be sure to add ‘snow-clearer’ to your list of projects, Fitz.” Bobbi smiled at him and he tugged at his ear. Jemma felt a strange flicker of jealousy. “In the meantime, help me get our guests ettled.” 

“Just Jemma, please, Bobbi.” 

And with that, Fitz jumped into action, moving across the room in two fluid steps. Jemma ignored the tingling sensation where he had gripped her arm as he helped her to her feet. Together, they shuffled to the small room near the kitchen. 

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Hunter called out, following closely with Jemma’s valise and bundled manuscript. “I ain’t sleeping in the stables.” 

“I’m sure we can find a straw pallet you can sleep on. The mud room isn’t as drafty as you’d think, Mr—?”

“Name’s Hunter but I’ll answer to anything you want to call me, love.” 

xXx

_ December 30th _

Jemma woke early the next morning and quickly dressed in the hopes of finding something for breakfast. She had been too exhausted last night to join Fitz and the other guests, choosing to sleep instead. But now she was ravenous. 

The inviting scent of baking bread pulled her out of the room and into the kitchen. 

“Bobbi, everything smells wonderful! Oh!” 

Jemma was startled by the sight of Fitz, an apron around his waist and flour dusted over his cheeks and nose. His curls were practically standing on end. He looked… charming.

“Ah, Miss Simmons.” He shuffled around, reaching for the nearest cloth to wipe his hands. “I was helping Miss Morse with her preparations for tomorrow’s festivities since we have a full house and, well. I like to bake so she lets me.” His flushed and scratched at his ear. 

“Well,” Jemma smiled and eyed a tasty looking morning bun. “Everything looks as delicious as it smells. There’s a lovely sort of science to baking. It’s no wonder you enjoy it.” 

He perked up at the comparison before moving to fetch a plate. 

“Hunter, he mentioned something about a journal?” 

“Yes! I’m meeting with The Royal Society of Edinburgh in a few days. It’s what brought me out into this terrible weather, although in my defense it wasn’t quite this terrible when we left London.” 

Fitz held out the small plate, a perfect morning bun resting on top. Jemma wasn’t certain why she felt flushed. Perhaps she’d stood too close to the oven? Their fingers brushed as she took the plate.

“Oh, ah. Thank you.” 

“Tell me about your manuscript.” He set about pouring her a cup of tea. 

“Oh, it’s nothing too revelatory.” She took a large bite of her morning bun to keep her mouth from saying anything too foolish. Some men didn’t appreciate a woman who enjoyed learning or who knew more about certain topics than they, and Jemma wasn’t quite ready to be disappointed by Fitz.

But Fitz surprised her. He furrowed his brow. “You’ve been invited to Edinburgh, Miss Simmons. I’m certain it’s nothing short of brilliant.” 

“That’s very kind of you.” 

Fitz gave her a small shrug, the corner of his mouth tipped up.

“What about your family back home? I imagine they’re bloody proud.” He paused. “Although something tells me they might not know where you’ve run off to.”

“And what gave that impression?” She arched an eyebrow. 

“Why else would you take _Hunter_ as a travel companion. He doesn’t shut up.” 

Jemma laughed. “He’s well versed in getting out of sticky situations so he has been rather handy to have on this journey. But to answer your question, no, my parents don’t know where I am. They wouldn’t approve. My father especially. He has a different life planned out for me—one that involves marrying a well-established man, raising children, and hosting parties. It sounds dreadful.” 

She shoved another bite of bun in her mouth.

“Fathers can be like that,” Fitz agreed, a shadow passing over his face. But just as quickly, it was gone. “What’s your plan if he discovers you?”

“Oh, um—”

Jemma swallowed and licked the sugar from her lips, uncertain how to respond. 

Fortunately—or unfortunately—she and Fitz were interrupted by Hunter, rushing in, frantic. 

“I’m not one to tell you how to run an inn, there, Fitz, but most places I’ve stayed always kept a roof over their guests’ heads at the least.”

“What are you going on about?” Fitz groused and Jemma had to stifle a grin. His grumpy nature was growing on her.

“Your roof caved in on Mr. Coulson and his wife. The entire bed is soaked with snow. Coulson’s taking it fine but I wouldn’t want to cross his wife.” He glanced at Jemma. “If looks could kill, I’d be dead.” 

And with that, her quiet morning sharing a delicious breakfast with a sweet man came to an abrupt, snowy end.

xXx

After the roof was repaired as best as it could be in this weather, and after a brief reshuffling of the bedrooms, with Mr. Coulson and his wife, May, settled into Fitz’s room and Fitz relegated to a straw mat across the kitchen from Hunter, everyone settled down in the front room.

Jemma relished getting to know the other guests better. 

Coulson and May were traveling back to London with their daughter, Daisy, in preparation for the upcoming season. Originally from America, they hadn’t participated in a season before and so she did her best to explain what to expect. Daisy listed with rapt attention and offered a sharp wit every once and a while. Jemma was certain she and Daisy would have been the best of friends if they had attended dances together.

Fitz’s friends Mack and Elena were staying at the inn, visiting for the holidays. Mack had been a great help in repairing the roof and his wife sent him encouraging words and was ready with mugs of ale when he and Fitz returned.

Despite the ale, gingerbread, and drinking chocolate, Fitz still looked a bit frozen from being outside for so long. He rubbed and blew on his hands and Jemma took pity. 

“Perhaps a cup of tea would help?” Jemma offered with a chuckle, stepping next to him near the window.

“At this point, I think I’d be better off placing my hands directly into the bloody boiling water.”

She reached out and placed his hands between hers, speaking before thinking.

“You just need help regulating your body heat.” They both blushed and Jemma quickly searched for a change in the topic. “So tell me more about tomorrow’s festivities.” 

“Hogmanay? Um, it’s tradition. A celebration to ring out the old and ring in the new. We share gifts and treats. Mostly, whisky and buns. And there’s the ‘first footing’.”

When Jemma shook her head, he continued. “The first person who visits your home in the new year is said to be the ‘first foot’. Some people rush to their friends and family to be the first foot in the door.” 

“Oh. Something tells me we won’t have any visitors.”

“Unlikely in this weather, I’ll agree.” Fitz grinned, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. “But, I’m finding that, um. I’m finding that I quite like the company that’s already here.” 

“I was just thinking the same.” Jemma wasn’t sure if it was the hearth making her feel so warm, or if it was the way Fitz looked at her. He looked at her with such fondness Jemma couldn’t help the way her heart skipped.

“There’s other traditions as well. Dancing and singing. It’s said couples used to run off and marry during Hogmanay.”

“It sounds lovely.” She pulled her bottom lip against her teeth. 

“Hmm.” He tipped forward a bit, his cheeks rosy and eyes dropping to look at her mouth.

“And dreadfully romantic.” 

“Quite.” 

He leaned closer and Jemma felt herself buoyed up, gently raising up to meet him—

Hunter busted in and they jolted apart. It was difficult to believe, Jemma thought, she’d once been grateful to have Hunter on this journey with her.

“Hey Fitzy, any of that drinking chocolate left? Goes great with a finger or two of scotch.” 

Fitz chanced a side glance at Jemma. She took a full step back from him and did her best to appear unaffected as she asked, “Do you still like the company already here at the inn?” 

He tugged at his ear with an awkward chuckle. 

“Mostly,” he amended with a smile.

xXx

_ December 31st  _

The day had gone by quickly as everyone in the inn busied themselves preparing for the night’s festivities. 

Bobbi had cooked and baked enough food to feed a small army, all the while making eyes at Hunter. Hunter sat nearby, making himself useful by peeling potatoes and stirring various pots when needed. Of course, he also was making eyes at Bobbi. 

Coulson and Mack tended to the animals, gathered more firewood, and ensured the repaired roof was in proper condition, while May, Daisy, and Elena made decorations out of bits of pine, berries, and tinsel. 

Everyone, it seemed, had something to do. A way to contribute. 

Jemma, however, felt out of sorts and decidedly unhelpful. After their almost-kiss, Fitz had done his best to keep away from her. She tried to not let it fester, but it hurt just the same. They barely knew each other—why should it matter? But for some strange reason it did. 

She shook her head. She needed a distraction and thought about fetching her manuscript to read through. That was why she was here, after all, wasn’t it? To have her research published. Not to become infatuated with a man who didn’t want her. How dull.

“Jemma!” Daisy called out as she passed and motioned for her to join the other women in their decorating. Well, Jemma thought, her manuscript could wait. She’d read it through countless times, already. 

She joined her new friends. Two cups of tea, four biscuits, and one lopsided wreath later, Jemma felt much more relaxed. 

“The men have been out too long,” May stood, dusting her hands together. “I have a feeling they’ve found a bottle of scotch to share.” 

“Let’s hope they’re sharing it on solid ground and not up on the roof,” Elena added. Then together, the two women went off in search of their husbands, leaving Jemma and Daisy to sit by the fire.

“So, tell me,” Daisy leaned forward and Jemma felt a rush of affection for her. Even though they’d just met, Jemma found she was the sister and best friend she’d longed for all wrapped up in one. “What do you think of Fitz?”

Oh. Yes, Jemma supposed sisters and best friends could be so blunt. Perhaps she didn’t miss this, growing up.

“He’s a perfectly fine innkeeper.” 

“Yes, of course.” Daisy tipped her head to one side, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “But is he a nice kisser?”

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“That’s not how it looked last night.” 

“We were interrupted before anything could—that is to say—”

“Ah! So you like him.” 

“As I said, he’s a perfectly fine innkeeper.” 

“To which I agreed.” 

“Even if his hospitable nature could use some work. And the front door sticks.” Jemma recalled their first meeting, his arms catching her as she collapsed. Dreadfully embarrassing. 

“And his personal style could use some work,” Daisy added. What did that have to do with anything, Jemma wondered. “That mop on top of his head…” 

“His curls are lovely!” Jemma exclaimed and Daisy arched an eyebrow, pointedly. “Oh. I see what you’re doing.” 

“Fitz did say you were clever.” 

“He did?” Her stomach swirled with butterflies.

“Hmm, and he had that same look in his eyes when he said it that you’ve got right now.” 

“Well he’s just as clever! The drawings for his gadgets—”

“Goodness. I do enjoy being right.” Daisy grinned.

“Right about what?”

“The two of you. You like each other.”

“Oh hardly.” Jemma waved her off but her heart still skipped a beat. 

“No, not ‘hardly.’” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter. We barely know each other. I’m off to Edinburgh the moment the weather allows and, and, Fitz has this inn to run.” 

“What a strong argument. You’re a scientist you say?”

“I haven’t had a lot of friends but are all friendships like this?”

“Only the best ones.” Daisy grinned again and Jemma found she couldn’t stay upset. 

“Are you going to tell me what you and Fitz talked about? It’s clear I was one of the subjects.”

“We also discussed the poetry of Robert Burns. Did you know he wrote ‘Auld Lang Syne’?”

“So is this a no? You won’t tell me what you two discussed?” Jemma untied and tied the ribbon in her hands.

“I’ll tell you this: talk to him. You might just like what you hear.” 

“That’s what I’m worried about, Daisy.” 

Her new friend gave her hand a squeeze and then slipped off in search of her father. 

xXx

Now that the wind had stopped blowing so viciously and the snow slowed to a dreamlike smattering, everyone had gone out for a bit of fresh air and a stroll. Jemma, however, had elected to stay behind. She needed a bit of quiet to think. Standing by the fire where she and Fitz had almost kissed sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. 

It was a silly notion—that Fitz would like her as more than, than… a visitor. They had only just met, after all. And she had meant what she’d told Daisy: her future was in Edinburgh. She wasn’t about to let anyone stop her from achieving her dreams. Not even a charmingly grumpy innkeeper with lovely blue eyes and thick curls… But oh, what if she could?

“You look deep in thought.” A voice she’d somehow already grown accustomed to rumbled near her ear. A delightful shiver ran down her spine. She hadn’t heard him return. His nose was rosy from the cold and snow dusted his shoulders.

“Ah, yes, well. I was just thinking about,” she paused, “Edinburgh.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. And she needed to be true to herself. She needed to nip this infatuation in the bud.

“Edinburgh is lovely this time of year.” 

“Is it?”

“If you like the freezing cold and snow.”

“As it just so happens, I do. I could stay here forever.” It was the truth, despite the fact Jemma realized she couldn’t. Once the snow cleared a bit, she and Hunter would be on their way. 

“That’s,” he swallowed hard, “good. That’s wonderful news for Scotland.” 

“And what about you?” 

He blinked, owlishly. “I already live here.” 

She laughed and he only grinned, still confused.

“No. It’s good news for Scotland, but is it good—Um, that is to say, how do you feel about it? About me staying here forever?”

A deep line of thought formed along his brow but a moment later he was kissing her. It was everything she wanted and for a second, nothing else mattered. And then the kiss was over too soon for her liking. 

“Jemma, I—”

Before he could say another word, she ran the pad of her thumb along his bottom lip. He reached up and clasped her hand in his, turning it against his mouth, kissing her palm, breathing her in. 

The front door swung open and Daisy pulled the pair into the center of the room. 

“Found them!” 

Everyone quickly followed suit and the door slammed shut in a heavy clamor. A cacophony of voices broke out as feet thundered on the wood floor. Everyone sang out—or in Hunter’s case, shouted. Night had fallen and it seemed the festivities were underway. 

“Come on and dance!” Daisy grinned. 

Jemma realized she and Fitz were still holding hands but he smiled at her and she didn’t want to let go. 

A moment later, a bit of tartan was draped over their interlocked hands but they hardly noticed, too swept up in the joyous singing. 

xXx

_ January 1st, continued _

When Fitz explained to Jemma the tradition, she hadn’t expected her own father to be the “first foot” into Rosebud Inn. Although, in truth, she supposed it was his coachman who was the first foot, having kicked in the door in the first place.

After Fitz’s declaration, her father had only glared harder. Tension crackled through the room. Coulson and May watched the scene with astute eyes. Mack and Elena appeared ready to jump to Fitz’s defense if needed. Hunter hid behind Bobbi which left Jemma wondering who would jump to her defense. Daisy, it would seem. Her new friend took a careful step in her direction.

Fitz gently took Jemma by the elbow and led her aside. “Jemma, that hand-fasting is hardly binding,” Fitz whispered out of earshot of her father. “But if it means you can continue on to Edinburgh, can build the life you want, then I’m happy to… that is to say. I would be happy to be your husband. In name of course. For protection.” 

“What if I don’t want your protection?”

“No, of course. But—” He shook his head, unable to look her in the eye.

“The hand-fasting may not be binding,” Jemma moved closer, her hands coming to rest on his chest. “But what if I would like it to be?”

“Jemma?” Now he looked up, eyes wide with hope.

“Not for the protection of your name but because,” she paused, a small smile curling at the corner of her mouth, “because you’re possibly the kindest, bravest man I’ve ever met. And I find I quite prefer Scotland in the winter.” 

The worry eased from his expression. Holding her face against his fingertips, Fitz tipped her chin up and sealed their new marriage with a kiss.

xXx

_ January 3rd _

Fitz trailed kisses down Jemma’s bare shoulder.

“This is by far,” she murmured, “my favorite way to wake up. Second, of course, is to a man handing me a morning bun and a cup of tea.” 

He chuckled and nipped her earlobe.

“Well, wife, I find I must agree. However, we need to wake and dress.” 

“And why is that, husband?”

“The snow has finally melted enough for a carriage and we’re due in Edinburgh.” 

Jemma’s heart was so full. She leaned up and kissed him. An unexpected start to the new year had turned into the lovely start of the rest of their life together. 


End file.
